


Bowed in Loyalty, Bound by Love

by Gladdybug, incunand



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Boot Worship, Bottom Hubert von Vestra, Breeding Kink, Choking, Face-Fucking, Humiliation, Husbands, Impact Play, M/M, Mentioned Casphardt, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Painplay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Black Eagles Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Scent Kink, Subspace, Top Ferdinand von Aegir, We ran out of ways to wreck hubert, Whipping, dick stepping, dom!ferdinand, sub!hubert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 01:27:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30115032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gladdybug/pseuds/Gladdybug, https://archiveofourown.org/users/incunand/pseuds/incunand
Summary: Hubert always found Ferdinand attractive at the head of a battalion, his cape fluttering behind him as he cut through enemies with determination and ferocity.Now, in peacetime, this translated over to his dealings with disgruntled former nobles who seemed to have forgotten just how fearsome General Aegir could be when pushed too far. His polite, amicable demeanor fell away, leaving bared teeth and bloodlust in its wake.While Ferdinand truly believed one would attract more flies with sugar than with lye, sometimes a more caustic approach was needed, one that Ferdinand was indeed capable of.And it turned Hubert on to no end.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 6
Kudos: 58





	Bowed in Loyalty, Bound by Love

**Author's Note:**

> Hubert @ Ferdinand, during the war: please step on me pLEASE
> 
> This has been such a delight to work on and I couldn’t ask for a better writing partner!! <3 <3 <3 I hope everyone enjoys watching Hubert GET REKT in this incredible labor of love -Gladdy
> 
> This is the first fic I have ever posted on ao3 and it’s 13k words of Hubert getting fucking destroyed please take it along with my dignity -Incunand
> 
> Main kinks are tagged, let us know if we missed one!

_“Hark, my liege! The count approaches!” Sir Framingham’s page cries out in warning, stepping in front of his lord. Sir Framingham will not stand for such sacrifices! In one smooth motion, he swoops the smaller man into his arms and parries the lance curving their way. The page’s breath catches in his throat as his chest pushes against his lord’s. The two soldiers pant against each other, breaths mingling, lips almost touching—_

The Minister of the Imperial Household’s attention is torn from the torrid pages of his book by the clunk of armored boots as Ferdinand, his beloved husband, makes his way angrily back to their shared quarters.

Hubert could hear Ferdinand approaching long before the man entered the parlor room of their suite, of course, as the man had all the subtlety of an axe to the head even when _trying_ to be quiet. The disjointed cadence of Ferdinand’s footsteps told him that Ferdinand's meeting with Count Bergliez was _not_ a productive one. 

The Count was notorious for getting on Ferdinand’s nerves, specifically. Hubert recalls his lover grumbling and grousing all throughout lunch over said meeting, saying it was the third time the dreaded man had called for him this month over something ridiculously mundane just so he could change the subject to something or another and talk Ferdinand’s ear off for the rest of the day. Hubert, being the cynical man he is, had suggested it would be much easier to poison the old man’s tea and make it seem like heart failure— which ended up earning him a kiss and a light scolding.

Ferdinand slows his steps, probably remembering that Hubert’s ears were sensitive to such sounds and that he would no doubt greet his husband with a complaint. A lifetime of spy’s instincts lead to sensitive hearing, which proved beneficial in certain situations but provoked some kind of annoyed twitching at others.

Ferdinand pushes open the doors to their shared bedroom, shaking his hair loose from the messy bun he had put it in. Hubert hardly startles at his abrupt entrance, already used to the man bursting into rooms with the elegance of a battering ram.

“I trust that if dear Count Bergliez were to mysteriously disappear, you would have your spies cover for me, yes?”

Tossing his gauntlets carelessly onto the bed, Ferdinand makes his way over to his husband. Reclined in a plush seat with his glasses perched on his nose, Hubert is quite comfortable up until Ferdinand plops all 200-something pounds of chiseled warrior muscle down on the man’s lap, much to his dismay. He _was_ in the middle of reading about a sexually-charged staring contest in the middle of a battlefield, but he supposes his new occupation as Ferdinand’s loveseat isn’t so bad. Especially when the man wraps his arms around him, tucking his head underneath his chin.

“ _A Knight’s Desire_?” Ferdinand’s eyebrow quirks, spying Hubert’s book, “I thought you did not care for corny romance novels like these.”

Hubert places the book facedown in his lap and winds his arms around Ferdinand's waist, holding the other man close to his chest. His husband’s hair has become partially undone throughout the day, so he lifts a hand to stroke through the messy bun, untangling it with his fingers.

“I merely wanted to read something different,” Hubert replies wryly, an amused little grin forming on his lips. Ferdinand responds with a little snort, burrowing further into the warmth of his husband’s neck. Turning his head to try and peer at Ferdinand over the rims of his glasses and failing, Hubert settles for resting his cheek atop Ferdinand's head.

"I assume the meeting with Count Bergliez did not go well?"

Ferdinand shakes his head, orange curls tickling Hubert’s nose. It makes him feel like sneezing. Instead, he presses a kiss to those orange locks. 

"Would you like to talk about it?" he asks.

Ferdinand’s shoulders start to slacken with every soothing pass of Hubert’s hand through his hair. He prides himself on his hands being skilled at weaving spells, but he supposes calming his husband is also an important skill set. 

Ferdinand hums, “Mm. Perhaps while I am polishing my armor, but it is comfortable here. I would not mind staying in your arms for a bit longer.”

Holding his beloved is a nice respite from the rest of the day, though Ferdinand’s pauldrons are starting to dig into Hubert’s chest. Eventually, Ferdinand notices and pulls away, though Hubert thinks he could have endured it for a bit longer.

Sitting up, Ferdinand unbuckles said pieces of armor with practiced efficiency, leaving them scattered on the floor. Hubert's eyes do not leave his husband’s form as he watches him strip off his armor, though a twinge of annoyance flickers through him as they clatter to the floor. It’s an old habit from Ferdinand's school days— " _If I am to clean them, I must leave them out!_ "—he'd always say. A coy look from Ferdinand turns that twinge into one of intrigue as a finger presses up against Hubert’s lips.

“Shush you, I will pick it up later. Now tell me about your day.”

With a grin like sunshine, Ferdinand stands to strip himself of the rest of his armor, setting each piece aside to be cleaned and maintained.

He looks so strong and dashing like this, half-armored like the heroic and handsome knight from the admittedly salacious novel Hubert had just been reading, half-bared and showing off thick muscle barely hidden by tight clothing.

"Mm, well," begins Hubert, relaxing further into his armchair, "Upon our parting of ways this morning, I had some reports to look over from all over Fódlan, many of which described nothing of great importance save for a few small dissenting factions in the former Kingdom of Faerghus." He sighs. "I've already tasked my people with taking care of those, though per your advice, I made sure to consult Her Majesty first." he says, referencing a conversation from when their relationship was not as loving as it is now. 

Ferdinand hums, indicating that he is listening though his back is turned. Hubert continues.

"I took lunch with Bernadetta in the greenhouse. Her pitcher plants are looking quite splendid; she offered to give us a few to help keep insects at bay. I said yes, pending your approval as well, which will hopefully be swift as I would like one or two of those plants for my office." 

Hubert gives a small smile as his husband approaches once more, leaning his plush ass against the arm of his seat. He places his hand on Ferdinand's knee, regarding him curiously over the tops of his glasses. 

"Then, Her Majesty, the Professor, and I spent the afternoon strategizing over what to do about the remaining Agarthans..." His smile disappears, a frown forming in its wake. "We have been keeping an eye on them and they have made no moves to regroup after the fall of Shambhala, but..."

Ferdinand’s hand finds his, grazing over the ring that sits on his fourth finger in a calming gesture, grounding Hubert and bringing his thoughts back to the present.

"Then I found this entertaining little book," he motions towards his copy of _A Knight's Desire_ , laid open over his knee, "and have been reading since then. Quite the fascinating story, I'd say... And the characters? I find them compelling," His hand moves higher up Ferdinand's thigh, giving a squeeze around its thickest part. "Particularly the romantic lead; he reminds me a bit of you, my love. So noble, and bright, and strong and..." 

He swallows.

"...So demanding in his desires."

A tinge of darkness flashes in Ferdinand’s amber eyes for just a second, as Hubert’s hand travels further up his thigh, and then it’s gone. He retreats from his husband’s embrace, whether to purposefully tease the man or not, and starts unclipping his sword belt. Damn it all.

“The pitcher plants sound like a wonderful addition to our room!” Ferdinand chirps, invulnerable to Hubert’s advances, “I am sure they will deal with those pesky gnats that so love to torture me while I work.”

Ferdinand turns his back as he slips his belt from its loops with a sharp snap, causing Hubert’s breath to hitch instinctively, and folds it up to set aside. Not put away, but set aside, which means Ferdinand intends to use it tonight. 

Hubert can already feel his skin tingling with anticipation.

“Do not get ahead of yourself, my dear husband.” Ferdinand scolds, giving him a coy look over his shoulder. “I have not told you about _my_ day yet, have I?”

Hubert resigns with a huff, reclining back into his armchair and signaling, with a wave of his hand, for Ferdinand to continue.

“I took tea with Lorenz today, since he is visiting from Gloucester. We have him to thank for the compliance of the old noble houses in Alliance lands. Ah, perhaps I should send him off with a gift of sorts. I shall come up with something later.”

Ferdinand moves on to the dresser, pulling the top shelf open to grab a bottle of oil and some rags. 

“It was a wonderful day up until I had that dreadful meeting. That old man wasted an entire afternoon of my time and insisted on keeping me past supper!”

Ferdinand’s temper is rising, as is Hubert’s arousal.

“Just thinking about the things he said gets my blood boiling again! Ugh, I cannot stand that man!”

The _bang_ of Ferdinand slamming the oil bottle on the nightstand has Hubert jumping in his seat, partially because he's startled, and partially because he _knows_ the tone of voice Ferdinand is using.

Dark, heavy with barely-contained rage; it reminds Hubert of days since passed. The chaos of a battlefield, the thrum of adrenaline in his veins, Ferdinand leading the charge with a dangerous glint in his eye. Soldiers organizing themselves behind their battalion leader, the air thick with the stench of blood. Triumph and rebirth in the face of grand loss, a type of smoldering strength born from adversity. 

He always found Ferdinand attractive at the head of a battalion, his cape fluttering behind him as he cut through enemies with determination and ferocity. 

(Of course, this led to a lot of adrenaline-fueled "I'm glad you're alive" sex in too-small tents, but that was back then.)

Now, in peacetime, this translated over to his dealings with disgruntled former nobles who seemed to have forgotten just how fearsome General Aegir could be when pushed too far. His polite, amicable demeanor fell away, leaving bared teeth and bloodlust in its wake. 

While Ferdinand truly believed one would attract more flies with sugar than with lye, sometimes a more caustic approach was needed, one that Ferdinand was indeed capable of. 

And it turned Hubert on to no end. 

"How dare he, keeping a man as hardworking as you away from your well-deserved supper... and your husband," prods Hubert, hoping to invoke more of Ferdinand's sweet, sweet ire, "Just what did he say that has your blood boiling so, my dear?"

Ferdinand pauses for a moment, his expression unreadable as his hair blocks his face. There’s a shift of energy in the air, somehow. His husband seems more dangerous in the way he’s hunched over, setting his sword to rest against the night stand.

Then, he straightens.

“Why, if you want to know so badly, how about getting a little more comfortable first?”

Hubert immediately straightens, a shudder running through his spine, like a soldier ready to obey an order from his General in its own twisted way.

Ferdinand is not unaware of the effects his tone has on him, rendering Hubert submissive and obedient almost immediately. The first time he used the _voice_ , Hubert was shocked by how his body responded, collapsing onto his knees so fast there were bruises there for days.

His husband turns, eyes glinting in the low candlelight. His gaze flicks down to the front of Hubert’s trousers, where a tent is already beginning to form.

“I shall go brew a cup of tea for myself.” Ferdinand starts, his voice radiating calm authority, “When I return, I expect for you to have stripped, completely, on your knees by my bedside with your hands behind your back. Understood?” 

With his orders given, Ferdinand turns with a flourish of his cape, and strides out the door.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind Ferdinand, Hubert leaps from his chair and starts tearing off his clothes. He’s already hard, embarrassingly so, and was ready as soon as Ferdinand’s voice dropped to those sexy, dangerous tones. In his eagerness, he doesn’t even bother to fold his clothes, simply leaving them on the chair to pick up tomorrow. 

Moving to kneel by Ferdinand’s side of the bed, Hubert glances at his own cock. Hard, angry red, and shining with pre-cum at the tip. He’s already leaking, how deliciously _humiliating_.

Clasping his hands behind his back, he presses his face into the bed and inhales. It smells like Ferdinand’s soap and sweat, a tantalizing combination that both soothes Hubert’s heart and sets his loins aflame. 

His eyes flutter shut as he waits there, cock hard and heavy between his legs, for his beloved Ferdinand—no, his beloved lord and General—to return.

A few minutes pass until the door opens and closes, softer this time, as Ferdinand returns from the parlor room. Hubert cannot see the expression on his husband’s face, as his own gaze is fixed on the floor, but he likes to think a satisfied smile is grazing his handsome features at Hubert’s obedience.

The tea cup clinks against its saucer as Ferdinand sets it gently on the nightstand beside his oil and rags. Hubert doesn’t move or look up; he already knows his place. 

“I always knew Count Bergliez was a stubborn old fool,” Ferdinand begins, “My father admired that about him. I never thought I would have to work with the man, though. One would think he would retire before I took my position as Prime Minister.”

With a scowl, Ferdinand strips himself of his jacket and cape before sitting down on the side of the bed, in front of Hubert’s supplicating form. He picks up one of his discarded gauntlets, placing it on his lap to work the dust and grime from all its nooks and crannies with one of the rags.

“As you recall, our meeting today was about his alleged issues with my new education reform bill. He sided with Her Majesty during the war in support of a new world, yet he draws the line at free education for commoners? Exactly what was he fighting for?”

Hubert continues to look down even as Ferdinand's voice surrounds him. He wants nothing more than to shuffle over and place his head in Ferdinand's lap, but the spot is already occupied by the oiled-up gauntlet that Ferdinand is cleaning.

Ridiculously enough, he's almost jealous of the armor. Ferdinand's lap is _his_ spot. 

Hubert is obedient, though—how could he not be, with Ferdinand's voice sharp and heavy with conviction and righteous anger? Every word sends a tremble across Hubert's shoulders and a fresh drop of precum rolling down his cock. He's too fogged up with arousal to concentrate on the content of Ferdinand's words—something about Count Bergliez's disagreement with the education reform bill Ferdinand had been working so hard on? But the tone hits him like a punch to the gut. 

“And do you know what he said?”

Hubert refocuses. He has to be there to support his husband, after all; it was part of their wedding vows. So he listens, as Ferdinand struggles to rub out a particularly stubborn dirt stain.

“He asked, ‘Why should I offer up part of my territory for another school to be built when Garreg Mach already exists? Is that not school enough for commoners?’”

Hubert hums quietly in assent. Garreg Mach was notoriously expensive, requiring a background of wealth to attend. Those who could not afford it were relegated to the poorly-funded local schools, or worse, no school at all, unable to access an environment that fostered their merit. (It was one of Ferdinand's favorite things to complain about.) 

“Can you believe a man with a pile of rocks for a brain still has the _audacity_ to be holding such a high position?”

He’s talking as if Hubert is not in front of him, nude with his cock standing at attention and skin flushed red. Perhaps Ferdinand is purposefully teasing him, enjoying the way his shoulders tremble not out of fear, but entirely something else whenever he raises his voice. 

"No, sir," Hubert murmurs, "I cannot believe it." 

On any other day, he would have more scathing words for Count Bergliez, but this is Ferdinand's show and he is merely a doll, a plaything to be moved around as Ferdinand pleases. 

An armored boot nudges against his thigh, causing Hubert to startle at the feeling of cold metal on sensitive flesh. Just like the rest of Ferdinand's armor, it is well-maintained and polished to a high shine. He can see his own reflection in the toe, his pathetic visage peeking out from behind his hard cock. Were it not for the fact that he was so desperately hard, the image would have been a little funny. Still, he wants nothing more than to cant his hips forward and feel the chill of cold metal on his aching flesh.

But this is Ferdinand's show, so he waits.

“Nevertheless I sat there while Count Bergliez did nothing but complain about my bill, and then went on to talk my ear off about his other concerns beyond my control, thus wasting my time.”

Ferdinand pauses to coat his rag with a bit of oil.

“He thinks we stray too far from what is known as tradition, though he fought to topple nobility in the first place. I suppose he is still upset about his son eloping with the Hevring heir.”

Hubert lets out a small whimper. Ferdinand pauses just for a moment, shooting a look at his kneeling lover, before he resumes his task.

“I told him such, perhaps to get back at him for wasting my time complaining about my bill and what else.” He nudges his boot forward so it rests just under Hubert’s balls, “And do you know what he said?”

Ferdinand’s boot presses upward, applying the slightest amount of pressure before trailing up, so that his heel rests against the length of his husband’s throbbing cock. The languid drag of it pulls a full-blown whine from Hubert, its weight resting heavy and tantalizing on his erection. 

He bites his lip—it is taking all of his considerable willpower to not grab Ferdinand by the ankle and hump against his boot until he reaches completion, the very picture of depravity and desperation for Ferdinand's eyes only.

Damn Ferdinand and his mystical ability to command the space around him. Even when ranting about a miserable meeting, he still has Hubert absolutely spellbound, regardless of the foot on his cock. He dares to peek up at Ferdinand, breaking the staring contest he's been having with his own dick, and his heart picks up at the gorgeous expression on Ferdinand's face.

Full lips flattened into a small scowl, manicured brows furrowed, nostrils flared, gaze steely and unwavering. He remembers this look from even before their war days, when they would antagonize each other for fun. Hubert has always loved that look, loved when it was turned on their enemies, loved when it was turned onto him. 

His face grows hot remembering all the times during their academy days when Ferdinand would make this look and Hubert would have to dig his fingernails into his palms just to keep from grabbing Ferdinand by the collar and smashing their lips together. The difference is that, back then, Ferdinand's ire came with no promise of reward. Now, the boot resting solid and heavy on his cock is promise enough that Hubert will get what he wants, as long as he behaves.

Or not. Ferdinand's punishments are just as sweet as his rewards.

"What did he say, my lord?" Hubert asks quietly.

“He said,” Ferdinand murmurs, dragging the tip of his boot up and down the length of Hubert’s cock, “‘My son may have run off with a Hevring, but it is better than marrying a _Vestra_.’”

Ferdinand’s boot presses harshly against Hubert’s cock, rolling his heel and grinding up and down the man’s length. He’s directing all of his anger against his husband’s member, torturing it at a slow and steady pace. Pleasure and pain bleed together in Hubert's mind, the distinction between them muddled and foggy, leaving Hubert feeling like mush under Ferdinand's heel. He's close to tears even as heat wells within him, causing him to leak precum all over Ferdinand's nice, shiny boot. 

“I nearly saw red. I wanted to lean over the table and strangle him. I would have drawn my sword and challenged the man to a duel right then and there. But, that would not be very noble of me, would it?” 

Ignoring the man whimpering beneath his boot, Ferdinand picks up his pauldrons and resumes his routine of cleaning them. Hubert _knows_ that Ferdinand can see the way his cock is flushed; that the tears threatening to spill from jade-green eyes do not escape his husband’s notice. Yet, for the sake of drawing this out longer, his cruel lover pretends he does not care.

“The Count could not even begin to imagine how good you are to me.” Ferdinand sighs, pressing his foot into the tip of Hubert’s dick, smearing precum all over it. “He dares mock my beloved pet right in front of me, knowing he would be drawing out my ire on purpose. Nobody insults my obedient husband without getting _punished_.”

Barely-restrained fury roughens Ferdinand's voice into a husky tone that, combined with the insistent press of Ferdinand's boot on his member, sends a submissive little thrill up Hubert's spine. 

If only Count Bergliez knew what marrying a Vestra truly meant. 

The ignorant and ill-informed often believed it to be a date with your own executioner, but they couldn't be more wrong. No, marrying a Vestra meant a shadow at your feet on the brightest of days, bowed in loyalty and bound by love. Earning the love of someone raised to mistrust and kill is no easy feat, and Hubert _adores_ his husband, worships the ground he walks on and the air he breathes. 

His lip quivers, though whether it is from Ferdinand's boot on his dick or the devotion he feels towards his husband, he does not know. 

But the heat is still within him, a steady crescendo that peaks as Ferdinand once again digs the toe of his boot into the tip of his cock. A sharp pain shoots through him as his mind fuzzes over, mouth hanging open in a wordless scream. The pleasure that accompanies is immeasurable, causing Hubert to buck upwards into the sole of Ferdinand's boot, his control faltering for one, shameful moment. The humiliation burning within him is in stark contrast to Ferdinand's sweet words ringing in his ears: he is Ferdinand's _beloved pet, his obedient husband, so good to Ferdinand..._ yet here he is, rutting against the bottom of his foot like an animal— like the filthy, tainted creature that he is. 

A tear slips down Hubert's cheek before he can blink it away. He tilts his head downward, hoping Ferdinand did not see it, lest it add to the delicious cocktail of humiliation and praise brewing within him. 

"A-Ah... you speak too kindly of me, sir," Hubert manages to choke out, "I am merely here to serve, as is my duty."

He is curious as to how Ferdinand's meeting ended, however, and allows himself another question. 

"Did you punish him, sir?" he asks.

Ferdinand licks his lips, carefully setting his pauldrons aside in favor of picking up his sword. 

“I did not punish him, _yet_.”

He unsheathes the blade, while Hubert can’t help but grind against his master’s boot, unable to hold back anymore. Ferdinand allows it, admiring the glint of his sword in the low candlelight. Count Bergliez’s blood does not stain it, though his husband sets to polishing it as vigorously as if it had seen use.

“The Aegir in me did not allow myself to be provoked by his words.” He says, “A true noble does not lose their temper at the conference table. However...”

The sharp end of the blade suddenly rests under Hubert’s chin, forcing him to tilt his head up. Ferdinand’s unyielding gaze meets his own, and Hubert's heart does backflips, returning the steel in his husband’s golden eyes with overflowing affection. He swallows thickly, his prominent adam's apple bobbing against the blade. 

_Flames_ , how can one man be so perfect? 

“...I informed Count Bergliez that I, too, am now a Vestra. And we are known for our threats. Are we not, my love?”

As the blade of Ferdinand's sword presses slightly harder against Hubert's neck, his chin tilts up and his breath hitches. The steel is cold against the tender skin of his throat and he shivers, partially from the chill and partially from the thrill of being completely at Ferdinand's mercy. 

“If he were to waste my time again, he may find something distasteful in his tea, or perhaps a blade to his neck. So I advised him to _watch his words_ when speaking to me, because it is only by Her Majesty’s good graces that we are letting a _filthy pig_ like him continue _squealing_.”

The last words are snarled through Ferdinand’s gritted teeth, his heel rolling harshly into Hubert’s aching cock. It's so deliciously dominant—his voice is full of the same fire that was the legendary General Aegir on the battlefield. Unable to restrain himself any longer, Hubert rocks his hips, allowing a moan to escape from his lips. 

" _Ah, Ferdie_ ," he begs, " _Please..._ "

Even as the blade continues to rest against his throat, Hubert's hips buck up into Ferdinand's boot, smearing precum on the sole as he does. The heat in his gut is building up to a fever pitch that leaves him dizzy, head lolling backwards, exposing more of that slender, pale neck to his husband's hungry eyes, as he continues to hump Ferdinand's armored boot.

“Oh, no. That will not do, Minister Vestra.” Ferdinand murmurs, leaning forward to tangle his fingers in Hubert’s hair. “Did we not discuss this before? You shall only address me as ‘my lord’ and ‘sir’. I would think I deserve at least that amount of respect from my husband, no?”

" _Ohhhh...._ I... _”_ slurs Hubert, voice thick with drool that spills from the corners of his mouth, “I-I’m sorry, _sir..._ ”

Ferdinand’s frenzied gaze upon Hubert’s squirming body is quickly driving him mad. He wants to come undone underneath this man, this perfect deity—his mind is clouding over with nothing but blissful submission, as heat pools in his loins and threatens to burst with each word that falls from those beautiful lips.

“I forgive you,” Ferdinand purrs, fingers tightening on Hubert’s hair, wrenching a broken moan from his lips, “You have done so well for me; kneeling obediently and listening to me prattle about my day. Putting on such a wonderful show for me. So openly wanting. So _submissive_.”

 _Yes_ , he is everything Ferdinand says he is. He is obedient, he is wanting, he is Ferdinand’s submissive pet, putting on a show, rutting against his master’s boot like a dog...

“If I ordered you not to cum, would you listen? Or are you too far gone, too depraved to be able to obey my simple commands?” 

Ferdinand licks his lips, watching as Hubert’s thrusts pick up and stutter, his cock flushed red as it leaks copious amounts of precum on his boot. 

“Would you continue to be so obedient? Or would you give in to your own filthy desires?”

With great willpower, Hubert forces his hips to still and the heat in his gut to subside. It still persists, a dull ache between his legs begging for release as he continues to drip precum. 

He wants to be the perfect pet for Ferdinand—no, his beloved lord, General Aegir—whose fingers send frissons of pleasure sparking through his scalp as his fingers twist in wavy, dark hair. He wants Ferdinand to pull; to guide his wet, wanting mouth onto the tent in his trousers and use him as he continues to press his foot into Hubert's slutty cock. He's sure he could cum that way, mouthing at Ferdinand's crotch with a foot on his dick. 

Dark eyelashes, wet with unshed tears, flutter as green eyes gazes tentatively up at Ferdinand, who is the picture of a perfect dominant: honey-gold eyes look down Hubert with a mix of desire and disdain; full lips are quirked up into a crooked smile that shows off teeth as straight and white as a military cemetery; thick cavalier's thighs are spread wide to show off the sizable bulge in his trousers. From this angle, Ferdinand is not only his general, but his god; a grinning Adonis who holds Hubert's very heart in the palm of his hand. 

Hubert's tongue peeks out to wet pearl-pink lips, his cock throbbing under the minutest shift of Ferdinand's foot. 

"My lord, please..." he whines, "I don't know how much longer I can hold on..."

His gaze wanders to the sizable bulge on his husband’s pants, and he finds himself suddenly salivating at the sight. Amber eyes follow where Hubert’s attention has gone, and a daunting smirk finds its way onto Ferdinand’s features.

“Hoping for a reward, are we?”

With a harsh yank of Hubert’s hair, Ferdinand drags his face forward to press against his crotch, causing his heel to dig further into his poor husband’s cock as a result. Hubert lets his jaw drop as his face is pressed into Ferdinand’s crotch, mouthing pathetically at the bulge in his breeches on instinct, increasingly unable to hold back the wanton moans that fall from his lips. The heady scent of arousal is flooding his nostrils, a mix of sweat and musk and something uniquely _Ferdinand_ that is driving him mad.

Ferdinand’s boot moves insistently against his cock as if trying to push him to orgasm in defiance of Hubert’s best efforts to be a good boy and not paint his nice, shiny boot white. He is falling apart at the seams under Ferdinand’s domineering ministrations, hips once again stuttering against Ferdinand’s foot as tears drip from his lashes onto sharp, rosy cheekbones.

“I wonder how much longer you can last like this,” Ferdinand teases, breathless, “I wonder how much more you can beg before you fall apart.”

The heat continues to rise within him, prickling at his skin and pooling between his legs as the stutter of his hips becomes a rut. He’s so overwhelmed with pleasure like the slut he is that there is nothing he can do but chase his own orgasm, suckling on Ferdinand’s clothed erection as if trying to draw it from the confines of his breeches with his mouth alone. 

He _needs_ the weight of Ferdinand’s throbbing cock on his tongue, its girth in his throat. He can almost _feel_ it as Ferdinand grinds into his face. 

“Ah, sir, my lord, _my love,_ I cannot—!” babbles Hubert, “I’ll—too much, I— _Ohh_...” 

Unable to hold back any longer, the heat within Hubert boils over with such ferocity that it renders him dizzy. His seed shoots out in hot, white ropes that decorate Ferdinand’s boot in pearly strands like lace as Ferdinand continues to grind on him through his orgasm. Tongue lolling, he’s drooled a prominent wet spot onto Ferdinand’s breeches to match the one at the apex of his bulge. 

He rests his cheek on his husband's thigh, waiting for the world to stop spinning around him. 

It is then he realizes that he has disobeyed a direct order from General Aegir, and the heat returns.

“You _whore_.”

The angry expression Ferdinand wore when talking about Count Bergliez is back, but this time the full heat of his gaze is directed at Hubert. He stands, shoving Hubert off of him and onto the ground, rising to his full height as Hubert cowers beneath him.

“You cannot even hold your release in long enough for me to give you permission to come. Instead you rut against my boot like the dog you are and sully it with your disgusting seed. I think it is time for your _punishment_.”

Ferdinand bends down, cupping Hubert’s face in his hand, squeezing the man’s cheeks as he holds his gaze.

“But the punishment is the true reward you have been waiting for. Is it not, my love?”

His expression softens for just a moment, and Hubert trusts that expression with his entire life. He knows with just one word, muttered in the quietest voice, Ferdinand will back away before scooping Hubert into his arms, kissing and whispering soothing words against his skin. The only reason his husband pushes him so far is because he is content in knowing Hubert wants the pain just as much as Ferdinand wants to deal it. Truly, they make the perfect pair.

Hubert takes the tender moment to gather his thoughts, still a little foggy from his orgasm. All of the sudden, the moment of tenderness is gone, and Ferdinand’s eyes are steely again. He spits, a glob of saliva landing on Hubert’s cheek, and before he can react, a sharp smack across his face wakes him up enough to rise to his knees— only to come eye-level with Ferdinand’s cum-streaked boot.

His husband glares down at the filth sullying his shoes, and then at the man kneeled, trembling at his feet. Still so wanting, still so obedient. 

He gestures to his feet, eyebrow raised in irritation.

“Well? Get to cleaning.”

Hubert looks up at Ferdinand apologetically, eyes wide. “I’m sorry, my lord,” he says, before leaning down and sticking his tongue out.

The metal of Ferdinand’s boot is cold, its tang like a knife on his tongue. His spend is bitter where he laps it up, yet still so hot. The contrast in temperature, combined with the fire in Ferdinand’s voice and the humiliation of licking his own filthy cum off of Ferdinand’s boot, only serve to fan the flames of his slowly reigniting arousal. 

Hubert doubles down, using the flat of his tongue to sweep up his own cum before sucking it up with an obscene _slurp_. The metal of his husband’s armor fogs under Hubert’s lips with every heavy breath he takes. Eager, his hands come to rest on Ferdinand’s ankle in order to maneuver his foot around and make sure he cleans it all; he is nothing if not thorough in his ministrations. 

His eyes flutter shut once more under the delicious concoction of humiliation that Ferdinand has him under. Even when being punished like this, he is in bliss. Even when the boot is clean, Hubert does not stop— he continues to run his tongue over every crease and curve in Ferdinand’s armor, his mind distantly fogged as he is lost in his task.

“That is enough.” Ferdinand declares, drawing his foot away. Hubert leans forward, as if trying to chase after it. “Vile creature, getting off to the filthiest of acts.”

He reaches over to grab the bottle of oil left on the nightstand and drops it unceremoniously on the ground.

“Prepare yourself for me,” Ferdinand commands, sliding a hand lower to palm himself through his breeches. “I would rather not sully my hands by touching a depraved man such as yourself.”

Sitting down once more on the bed, he lifts his (no longer steaming) cup of tea to his lips. 

“But perhaps... if you beg for my forgiveness, I may allow you the privilege of having your mouth used.”

Hubert takes the oil and turns it over in his hand, trying to decide on the best angle to open himself up. Sitting on his haunches and reaching behind himself would deprive Ferdinand of the sight of his pink hole as it is stretched open, while spreading his legs and going from the front would prove difficult and wouldn't stretch him enough to take Ferdinand's length, even though he would be graced with the view of Ferdinand's gorgeous scowl.

He opts to face towards his master and sits on his haunches, pulling apart his cheeks to reach his fluttering hole as he traces an oil-slicked finger across the pucker. A shudder runs up his spine as he does; he's already so sensitive and Ferdinand has barely graced him with his touch. His balls hang heavy between his spread legs and his cock twitches as he works a single finger inside himself. Jaw slack, eyes fluttering shut, he moves in and out as his cock begins to harden again, rising to attention under Ferdinand's burning gaze. 

The sight of Ferdinand above him, fully clothed and palming at his cock as he mouths at the rim of a teacup, ignites something primal in Hubert. Now that he has debauched and debased himself in front of his lord and lover, he is content to sink deeper into the submissive space he's in, to open himself up and present himself as a toy with which Ferdinand can derive his pleasure. The perfect pet, the perfect doll, whatever his Ferdinand wanted from him. 

His lips part in a gasp as he adds another finger, scissoring himself open, and he realizes suddenly how empty it feels. He _needs_ to be filled, needs Ferdinand's thick cock thrusting between his lips, needs to taste the salt of his precum and feel its weight on his tongue. 

"Sir," he whines, thrusting two fingers in and out of him and teasing his rim with a third, "Your Radiance, please forgive me for, _ahhhn_ , sullying your boot without your permission... This whore, this vile— _hnghh_ —creature, is sorry..."

“What was that, dear? I can barely hear you.” Ferdinand responds, barely looking up from his teacup. “You are going to have to do far better than that, I am afraid.”

Each drop of tea is savored until the Prime Minister sets his cup aside with a _clink_ . He stands to circle Hubert like prey, eyeing him down, on display. There’s irony in the situation, Hubert thinks. Usually _he_ is the one in his position, intimidating those below him who snivel and writhe in fear.

Oh, but he is overwhelmed with an emotion far from fear.

Hubert continues to ride his own fingers even as Ferdinand paces around him, making a show of adding a third finger and wiggling them against his walls. He shudders—the feeling of himself loosening up to take Ferdinand's cock combined with the hot scrutiny of Ferdinand's gaze is a delicious cocktail that has him leaking. 

“Are you really sorry, or is this what you desired all along?” 

Armored boots click to a stop in front of Hubert, forcing him to crane his neck to meet the eyes of his Adonis, standing tall and commanding, a shadow falling over his own lithe form. The sight of it all makes his cock jump, hitting his stomach and coming away with a trail of precum.

“Be honest with me, Minister.”

Standing this close, Hubert can take in Ferdinand's scent: the sweetness from his bath the night before has since faded to something muskier, something more natural, sweat and grime and armor oil. It reminds him of the battlefield and of desperate adrenaline-fueled fucking in too-small cots. Ferdinand looks like a god above him, the light playing off of his coppery hair, bathing him in a holy aura that makes Hubert want to bring his lips to his feet once more.

Will his husband punish him so deliciously if he tells the truth? He's bound by oath, by vow, to be honest with his love. The ring on his finger is evidence of that. He knows that, overcome by servitude and drowned in Ferdinand's tough love, he cannot bring himself to lie. 

"If my honesty is what you desire, sir," begins Hubert, lip trembling, "then _yes_."

Ferdinand pauses to regard the man below him, cold eyes hard and calculating. Then, a smile crosses his features, like the sun emerging from behind the clouds.

“Good boy.”

Ferdinand’s calloused hands reach down to undo the placket of his trousers, meticulously untying the laces. He pushes his pants down just enough to draw his member from it, freeing his cock, resting hard and heavy in the palm of his hand. Hubert’s pupils dilate and his breath shortens, openly admiring his husband’s length, the tip of it shimmering with precum. 

Ferdinand's smile, the low purr of his voice, is so far removed from his earlier harsh tone, Hubert finds himself positively _melting_ under the attention. Even as Ferdinand lets his erection smack against his cheek, Hubert thinks he looks like an angel, and feels himself falling more in love with each dull _thwack_.

“Would you like a reward for your honesty, Minister?” Ferdinand purrs, as he angles his cock lower, resting the wet tip against Hubert’s lips. “Go on, love.”

Hubert purses his lips, pressing a loving kiss to the wet tip of Ferdinand's cock, before dropping his jaw and taking Ferdinand in as deep as he can go, until the blunt head hits the back of his throat. His eyes flutter shut in satisfaction—he's wanted the weight of Ferdinand's cock on his tongue all night, since he first fell to his knees. 

The hitch in Ferdinand's breath as he seals red lips around Ferdinand's glorious cock emboldens Hubert to appreciate the gift he's been given. He begins to suckle, laving his wet tongue all over Ferdinand's shaft, drool beginning to drip from the corners of his mouth as he does. So focused he is on tasting Ferdinand that his own fingers still within him, even as his hole pulses around them and his cock drips onto the floor. 

Hubert moans in bliss, sending vibrations up Ferdinand's shaft. This is where he wanted to be, on his knees with his husband's cock squirting precum down his throat. 

_Ferdinand is too kind to let me indulge in this_ , he muses happily, slurping and licking his way around his beloved's cock.

Rough hands card through his dark locks, pushing Hubert’s bangs out of the way so he can feel the full intensity of Ferdinand’s gaze. With every lick, every slurp and suck, Hubert lets out a moan around the delicious mouthful of cock, feeling the way it jerks and throbs between his lips.

The grip on Hubert’s hair tightens as Ferdinand yanks sharply. He whines, tearing up, as his husband chuckles and begins to thrust.

“Ah... you are so good, my darling.” Ferdinand moans, fucking Hubert’s throat, reveling in the wet choking noises he’s making. 

Each time his lover’s cock disappears down his throat, Hubert lets out a delicious sound stuck between a gurgle and a moan. Each noise only drives Ferdinand to thrust harder. All Hubert can do is relax his jaw and swallow around Ferdinand's length as it breaches his throat, his own neglected cock dribbling precum down his shaft. The whole time, Ferdinand has not stopped babbling, a litany of praises falling from his lips.

“You look so good like this, right where you belong. At my feet, being used like the whore you are. _Ah_ … You enjoy this so much, do you not? You love taking my cock down your throat, love being a hole for me to fuck. Goddess, you are _so good_...”

As much as he wants to, Hubert doesn't dare stroke himself. That sort of privilege is above him, made clear by Ferdinand's cold rage after he finished all over his master's boot. Hubert is happy to comply, though he keeps his hole plugged, just to give himself a little relief as he flexes around his fingers.

Ferdinand's praise falls like liquid honey upon his ears, sending warmth blooming through his body to pool between his legs, to his poor cock's chagrin. Every sigh of _good, so good_ , has Hubert's skin tingling in pleasure and he can't help but groan around the cock in his mouth as it slides between his reddened lips. Were he able to talk, he would beg for Ferdinand to finish down his throat, beg for Ferdinand to bless him with his seed in his mouth or in his ass or really anywhere on his body. He's in bliss like this, surrounded by Ferdinand's taste and scent and the sound of his moans as he slowly unravels above him, even as his own throat makes unseemly _gluk gluk gluk_ noises as Ferdinand's cock pumps in and out of his throat. 

He is overjoyed to be on his knees like this, exactly where he belongs, a wet and willing hole for Ferdinand to fuck.

“Would you like me to cum in your mouth, my sweet?” Ferdinand pants, his voice breathy and trembling with restraint. “Will you swallow it all down like a good boy for me?” 

Yes, oh _yes_ . He wants it. _Oh_ , he cannot wait—

Ferdinand pulls his cock free from his swollen lips.

Hubert’s mouth opens and closes like a fish's, the disappearance of his husband’s cock from his tongue almost startling in its suddenness. He whimpers at the loss even as Ferdinand drags the tip across Hubert’s face, leaving slick trails of precum and spit in its wake to rest on his cheek.

“I want you to beg for my cum,” he declares, slowly stroking the base of his cock. “Let me hear your wicked voice, love. Convince me that you are but a starved, thirsty whore.”

With a whine, Hubert tries to turn his face to mouth hungrily at the thick member resting against his cheek, to return Ferdinand’s fat cock to its home down Hubert’s throat. But Ferdinand pulls the warmth of his cock away with a hand at the base, keeping just out of reach of Hubert’s wandering lips. 

“Please, sir,” he begs, tears once again welling up at the corner of his eyes, hot and shameful, to drip down his cheeks. He wants Ferdinand’s cum so much that he feels he might _die_ without it, can already taste it on his tongue and feel its warmth on his lips. 

Ferdinand’s disapproving little frown tells Hubert that his little whimpers are not enough, so he steels himself, tensing his thighs as he summons all the courage in his depraved little heart to beg for the satisfaction he _needs_. 

He swallows. 

“I want it, your cum,” he begins. “Please. Fuck my throat until I’m hoarse, pull out and make a mess of my face, or finish down my throat and make me choke on your seed, I care not… I just want, no, I _need_ you to ruin me.” 

The words are coming out more easily now that he’s started, every sinful thought he’s had since he first laid lips on Ferdinand’s cock flowing from his mouth like a river of filth as he babbles. Words like _please, I want, give it to me, fill me_ are accompanied by the subtle thrust of his hips against nothing as he rocks back and forth on his own fingers, seeking some sort of friction to feed the heat of lust that rips through him.

“You are entirely too hard to resist...” Ferdinand moans, pushing Hubert’s hair away from his eyes, “You vile thing, so openly wanting. Allow me to give you what you desire.”

The tip of Ferdinand's cock breaches Hubert's lips once more, only to settle into a punishing pace as his husband fucks his throat. Hubert can't control the way his eyes roll back as Ferdinand's hips piston towards his face. He feels so _full_ just from this; the only taste on his tongue is that of Ferdinand's salty precum, and his jaw aches from being stretched around his beloved's sizable cock. 

“Fuck-!” Ferdinand grunts, sweat dripping down his neck. “Fuck- ah, darling I am... _oh,_ fuck- _take it_ -!”

Through blurry eyes, Hubert can see Ferdinand's expression pinched with pleasure as sweat drips from his brow, eyes screwed shut. He is pulled by his hair for a few powerful thrusts, and then suddenly his mouth is flooded with a bitter warmth that shoots down his throat and oozes from the corners of his mouth. He does his best to swallow around it as Ferdinand holds him close, Hubert's nose buried in wiry orange curls, as Ferdinand's cock throbs in his mouth and his balls twitch against Hubert's chin. 

Hubert's fingers still themselves, the sensation of Ferdinand releasing down his throat so intense that all he can do is focus on not choking on Ferdinand's seed. He inhales deeply through his nose, taking comfort in Ferdinand's musky yet still somehow floral scent. 

As Ferdinand's hands relax their tight grip on his hair, Hubert pulls off slowly, making sure to milk every last drop of Ferdinand's cum from his twitching cock. Globs of white drip down his chin sloppily and he gives a watery smile, making a show of sticking his tongue out to show Ferdinand his own spend covering Hubert's tongue and teeth before swallowing audibly. 

"Thank you for the meal, sir," he sighs.

Ferdinand takes a moment to catch his breath, his hands still tangled in Hubert’s hair. Gently, he reaches a hand down to smear his own seed with his thumb, guiding it to Hubert’s soft lips. Hubert greedily licks every drop from his fingers, as if savoring the last of a meal.

“You did wonderfully, my love.” Ferdinand croons. A calloused hand caresses Hubert’s cheek, a comforting gesture which makes his eyes flutter shut as he leans into his beloved’s touch.

The moment is nice, as it gives them both time to catch their breaths. With his other hand, Ferdinand starts to undo the buttons of his blouse, which has been thoroughly soaked in sweat. Hovering above him like this, the lamplight at his back casting a golden halo onto his hair, Hubert thinks Ferdinand appears divine, almost holy. 

When he gets to the last button, Ferdinand pulls his hand away from Hubert’s cheek, though it returns with a sharp _smack_. 

The sharp pain on his cheek, so soon after such tender caresses, startles Hubert, and he gasps. The sting lingers on his cheek, hot and buzzing, as Hubert’s vision clears to the sight of Ferdinand shrugging out of his blouse. Every muscle of his tantalizing torso is flexed; raised and rippled and deliciously defined in Hubert’s view from below, glistening with sweat that Hubert aches to lick up. 

“Do not think I am done with you just yet, my darling.” Ferdinand says, a devilish smirk playing at his lips. He makes a show of tying up his hair and Hubert swallows audibly. 

Years of watching Ferdinand tie up his hair right before taking his cock into his pretty pink mouth have conditioned Hubert to get hard as soon as the ribbon comes out, and now is no different—his cock twitches as he drinks in the sight of Ferdinand wrapping that bouncy mane of orange into a high ponytail, the defined muscle in his arms sent into sharp relief by the low light. 

“What do you think? Have you learned your lesson yet?”

The belt folds and _snaps_ against Ferdinand’s palm, which has Hubert straightening his back like a schoolboy caught slouching. It echoes in his mind, and he can almost _feel_ the supple leather against his skin, dragging so deliciously along red welts that do not yet exist. 

“Or do you think you deserve a little more punishment?”

It is as though Ferdinand has lit a fire beneath his skin, which thrums with the desire coursing through his veins. He needs the snap of that belt against his flesh like he needs air—otherwise, is he truly alive? 

How can he get Ferdinand to use that belt on him? Should he submit and be a good boy, begging for Ferdinand to whip him until he feels alive, or should he misbehave and provoke the ire of his beloved, the fabled and fearsome General Aegir?

He opts for the second choice—Ferdinand is _irresistible_ with fire glinting in those honey-gold eyes and a scowl on his lips. 

Let him be a whore, let him be punished for how much he desires Ferdinand. As long as he is Ferdinand’s whore, covered in Ferdinand’s marks and filled with Ferdinand’s cum, he is happy. 

Hubert withdraws his fingers from his ass with a quiet whimper before sitting back, supporting himself on shaky arms, and spreading his legs before his master. His cock, hard and proudly on display, leaks against his stomach, while his hole twitches around nothing, begging for Ferdinand to fill it with whatever he pleases. 

“Punish me,” he pleads, eyelashes wet with unshed tears, “look at my slutty hole, hear me sing my wicked song—I am a starved, thirsty whore…” he repeats Ferdinand’s words slowly, rolling them in his mouth until they feel good on his tongue, “and I deserve any punishment you see fit.”

Ferdinand’s eyes are fixated between Hubert’s legs. The sight of Hubert’s hole, twitching and wet with excess lube, elicits a twitch of renewed vigor from Ferdinand’s cock. He _tsks_ with apprehension.

“How humiliating, exposing yourself like this,” he says, “You had better not spread yourself like this for anyone but me, understand?”

Hubert frantically nods and lets Ferdinand shepherd him onto the bed with a clicking noise from the corner of his mouth, the same one he uses when commanding his horses.

“Up on your feet now, hurry up. I want you spread on the bed on your back. On your back, you deaf man.”

A light _smack_ flicks across Hubert’s rear as he fails to follow his master’s instructions quick enough.

“Good. Now hold your knees to your chest. I know you are flexible enough, you slippery fool. No complaining.”

Another smack, to Hubert’s thighs.

“Hold your legs there.” Ferdinand’s voice drops to a deep growl. “If you let go of them, I will put an end to this and simply walk away to my own quarters. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” mumbles Hubert, the picture of complete and total submission. Ferdinand’s derisive words light a fire in him, leaving him dizzy with an intoxicating combination of desire and humiliation.

Hubert grips his thighs, making sure his wet, loose hole is on full display for his master. Now devoid of his fingers, it twitches around nothing, just begging to be filled as the copious amounts of oil he used to open himself up drips from his hole. 

The belt drags teasingly across Hubert’s ass and thighs, a preview of what is to come. Biting back a moan, Hubert digs his nails into his thighs, leaving reddened crescents in their wake. He wants Ferdinand to get on with it, just smack him and give him the punishment he deserves, but his master is a cruel one. 

He dares not complain, though, lest Ferdinand abandon him like this—a work in progress, wanting and waiting to be filled to completion. Only by giving himself to Ferdinand, totally and completely, will he achieve the absolution he needs.

“Count them out.”

Ferdinand pulls away and swings his arm in a practiced motion, the belt whizzing through the air before connecting with a loud slap, followed by Hubert’s choked groan. 

"One…”

He swings again, picking up a lazy rhythm as if dishing out this punishment is as a mundane task as mucking horse stalls.

“Two… Three…” 

The first three whips _sting_ against the oversensitive skin of his ass, hot and painful. Hubert grits his teeth as he counts them out, tears once again collecting at the corners of his eyes. The expression on Ferdinand’s face is intense, impassive. His muscles glisten with sweat and ripple with every _smack_ that echoes throughout the room. Even when hot red lashes begin appearing on Hubert’s skin, he can tell, clearly, that his beloved is holding back.

"Four... Ah, five, six, seven..."

As Ferdinand continues to whip him, the pain subsides into something more pleasurable, satisfying the need in Hubert to be owned. Throughout this, Ferdinand's disdainful little frown feeds something sick within Hubert, something nasty and wrong yet _oh so right_. He belongs like this, moaning out numbers at the crack of Ferdinand's belt against his reddened skin, each whip causing another spurt of precome to gush from his cock.

However, the flare of Ferdinand's nostrils, the way his eyes are locked onto Hubert's prone form, and the way his skin shines with sweat belies the depth of Ferdinand's desire. It feeds the flames of Hubert's arousal, feeds the need pressing at his gut from the inside. 

"Eight... nine... ten,"

He can barely squeak out the final three lashes, biting his lip to hold back his whines. His eyes flutter shut, a single tear tracing its way down a sharp cheekbone. The need to release, to soil himself once more, is so intense that holding back has his head spinning. But he cannot debase himself any further, lest Ferdinand turn away in disgust. He's been granted this chance in the spirit of his master's benevolence and he knows he cannot waste it. 

“Good boy, such a good pet.” Ferdinand croons, trailing the belt up Hubert’s throbbing ass. “Do you want more? We are only getting started.”

The tickle of the leather against Hubert's oversensitive, raw skin has him gasping and convulsing more so than the whips. Ferdinand's sweet praise wraps around him like a blanket on a cold day. He wants more, to be a good little pet for Ferdinand, and good pets obey their masters. 

" _Please_ , my lord," sobs Hubert, tightening his grip on his thighs to show Ferdinand more of his ass. "Please, give me _more_ …"

“As you wish, you insatiable _whore_.”

Ferdinand does not hold back this time. He swings the belt in a wonderful arc and leaves a beautiful, burning red lash across Hubert’s ass cheeks. Then comes another. And another.

Hubert has long since lost count of how many lashes Ferdinand has given him, his numbers sounding more like garbled moans of nonsense as the sting rips through his body. Even if he tried, he wouldn’t be able to count clearly. He has long since lost any ability to form coherent thoughts, his mind so fuzzed-over by the intoxicating cocktail of pain and pleasure and lust and submission that courses through his veins. The only thing he can focus on is Ferdinand above him, manicured eyebrows furrowed and muscles flexing as he brings the belt back once more, landing a whip on Hubert’s reddened ass with a loud _thwap!_

Hubert _howls_.

“I did not hear those counted out clearly enough, my dear.” Ferdinand breathes, leaning forward to grip Hubert’s chin, slick with saliva, in his hand.

“More! Please, _nghhh,_ more!” Hubert cries, tears flowing freely down his cheeks and drool dripping down his chin. He wants to feel the evidence of Ferdinand’s love for weeks, wants every seat he takes to sting uncomfortably with the reminder that his husband adores him, wants to see Ferdinand’s knowing smirk every time he adjusts himself in his seat. His mind, his body, his soul all belong to Ferdinand, and the knowledge is _liberating_.

The belt comes down again, fueling the flame in Hubert’s loins. He doesn’t know if he is screaming in pain or pleasure at this point. Each whip bleeds into the next, and soon, Hubert can no longer tell when, exactly, Ferdinand strikes.

In the next lull between lashes, Hubert feels the end of the belt drag gently across his leaking cock, down his balls, and across his convulsing hole. His gut tightens at the sensation, feather-light and almost loving, as another spurt of precum gushes forth. Any more of this and he’s sure to make a mess of himself once more; the pressure between his legs is too great.

He’s torn between wanting to be good for his master and wanting to cum, and he chokes out a pathetic little sob. 

“Pl… please, _ahhh_ , I want to cum, I’m sorry, I wanna—” 

His babbling is cut off by another _thwap_!

“Three more. Count out three more for me, sweetheart, and then you can cum.”

Ferdinand is breathing hard, leaning over Hubert as he trails his free hand over his reddened skin. His thighs are inflamed, burning under his husband’s finger tips, and with every caress, Hubert whimpers out a pathetic cry.

“I want to hear you loud and clear. You can count to three, can you not?”

He pauses to pinch Hubert’s skin, successfully catching the man’s attention with a pained yelp. 

“If you mess up a number, we will start over from one. I can do this all night if I must. Do not disappoint me now.”

Ferdinand smirks, evil and daunting. His final act as a brutal master. He leans up and plants a tender kiss on Hubert’s sweaty forehead, whispering against his skin.

“You can do this, darling. You are so close.”

With that, Ferdinand pulls away, readying the belt for Hubert’s final lashing. 

There’s no working up to it now. The first whip comes with all of Ferdinand’s might— with so much strength behind the general’s arm that there’s a brief flash of green, as the Crest of Cichol activates.

“ _AAAAAAHHHHNNN_!”

With Ferdinand’s crest engaged, the lashes are ten times as painful. Hubert’s oversensitive ass is an angry red and his nerves burn with a rage more fearsome than an infernal fire. His screams are torn from his throat by force as Ferdinand whips him. 

“ONE!” shrieks Hubert. His throat feels raw and his whole body feels like it’s on fire. He has never felt more alive under Ferdinand’s flashing eyes and flexing muscles. 

Ferdinand whips him again, baring teeth that glint dangerously. Hubert can’t wait for the moment those teeth sink into the skin of his neck.

“TWO!” he wails. The pulsing in his balls is near-unbearable. He wants to cum, so _badly_ … But he has to hold on, just for one more whip…

The third lash is harder than the other two, hitting Hubert’s ass with a resounding _THWAP_! that has Hubert’s back arching and his nails digging angry red crescents into his thighs. The pressure in him bursts, like a dam breaking or the snap of a rubber band, and cum gushes from his cock as he lets out a guttural cry, as though his orgasm were being ripped from his very soul. 

“Th… three-hee-hee….” He sobs.

He’s _crying_ , even as cum spews from him. His hole clenches desperately around nothing, just begging to be filled by his husband’s cock. In his blubbering, he has lost control—body folding and unfolding, tongue lolling, eyes rolling back in their sockets as if shocked and scandalized by the sheer force of his own orgasm. It has him shaking, shivering deliciously on the bed under Ferdinand’s heated gaze.

In less than a second, Ferdinand is on top of him, shoving his cock into his loose hole while he is still convulsing in orgasms. In less than a second, Hubert goes from feeling painfully empty to exhilaratingly full as Ferdinand’s cock sheaths itself in his oversensitive, slick hole. Hubert screams. He’s still cumming, somehow, as Ferdinand plows into him over and over, each thrust causing a new spurt of cum to spray from his dick to join the overflowing puddle of white that stains his chest and drips onto the bed. 

“ _Ah_... you are so good, my love— you have done so well...”

He can feel himself losing his grip on his own thighs. His palms are slick, his thighs are raw and hurt wherever they touch something—the cold metal of Ferdinand’s armor, a constant reminder of the punishment he had to endure, his own hands, the balls slapping hard against his ass with every thrust. 

“So obedient, just for me... _fuck_ , you are mine. _Mine_.”

With a growl, Ferdinand picks up the pace, sweat dripping from his brow. Hubert’s thighs are covered with a layer of their own sweat. He’s slowly unrolling, limbs threatening to go everywhere, until Ferdinand’s own hands hold him in place, rough and warm and loving as Ferdinand’s fingers slot between his own. The gesture is kind and loving, though it serves to bend Hubert further to be hammered into the mattress, a pliant and willing hole for Ferdinand to fuck. 

“Look at you... _nnf_ …” his husband snarls. “N-Nobody gets to see you like this. _Ah_ \- only me. Only for _me_.”

“ _Ahh, Ferdie_ !” Hubert’s been screaming Ferdinand’s name so much, his throat is hoarse. “Yours! I’m yours, _fuck_ , only yours!”

He’s twitching around Ferdinand’s cock as it pistons in and out of him, nailing his prostate with each thrust. His orgasm seems endless—Ferdinand is going to wring him dry with sheer pleasure. Each slide of Ferdinand’s dick in and out of his oversensitive hole brings pushes him deeper into ecstasy, and it shows on his face: the whites of his eyes are almost completely visible and his jaw hangs low with every thrust. Tears stream down his face and the only noises he can make are pathetic little sobs and hiccups that sound in time with Ferdinand’s hips. 

Flames, it’s so damned _good_.

“K… kiss me,” Hubert whines, “Please, sir, _please_ , just one— _aahhh_!” His plea is cut off by a particularly hard snap of Ferdinand’s hips that has his hole convulsing and his cock twitching. 

His mouth opens and closes, the act of pursing his lips a herculean task. 

“ _Please_ , Ferdie… my love, my darling…”

Ferdinand huffs, looming even further over Hubert, hips still pistoning in and out, relentless in the rhythm of balls slapping against reddened ass cheeks.

“Hm. So you can still talk.”

A hand lets go of Hubert’s leg, letting it fall limply onto the bed as Ferdinand changes the angle, Hubert now laying partially on his side as he is split open. With one of his hands now free, Ferdinand reaches up to smack his pet’s face a few times, before wrapping that hand around his throat.

“I will have you ruined beyond comprehension by the time I cum, do you hear me? You will not only forget how to speak, but you will forget your name and all coherent thought by the end of this.”

Ferdinand tightens his hand as he leans down, capturing Hubert’s lips in a deep kiss, and suddenly Hubert is in _heaven_.

He is the picture of perfect submission, just a happy fucktoy for Ferdinand to use. Ass stuffed with Ferdinand’s cock, Ferdinand’s tongue practically fucking his throat (still raw from earlier), Ferdinand’s thick, shapely fingers wrapped around his neck—his mind is so focused on the overwhelming presence that is Ferdinand, he can’t even begin to _think_ about forming words. 

The bedframe trembles beneath them as Ferdinand continues to drive his cock into Hubert’s oversensitive prostate, sending pleasure ricocheting through him with an intensity that is almost painful. The leg that rests on the bed spasms involuntarily, asynchronous from the way his hips jerk to fuck himself on the fat cock leaking precum inside him, rendering his poor hole sloppy and leaking. A combination of oil and precum and his own cum coats him from belly to thighs, causing each press of Ferdinand’s hips to give a wet _slap_ as he continues to hump Hubert relentlessly. 

But his slutty hole isn’t the only place where he’s sloppy—his cock continues to convulse in his never-ending orgasm, wringing out spurt after pitiful spurt of seed. He can feel himself start to cum dry, his poor overstimulated prick protesting with each tremor, each twitch that seizes him. And his filthy mouth, the one that so wantonly swallowed Ferdinand’s dick? It now gapes slack in a permanent gasp as Hubert moans and whimpers and whines around Ferdinand’s tongue as it claims every sensitive nerve ending in his mouth. His face is a mess: chin and jaw slick with drool, cheeks wet with tears, forehead and hair drenched in sweat. Even his nose is running a little. Were he in any other state of mind, this would bring about ruin like no other, but he is Ferdinand’s perfect fucktoy, and toys are meant to be played with. 

He attempts a watery smile, but fails because it is not his place to think. 

Who is he, now?

He is Ferdinand’s, and _only_ Ferdinand’s.

Hubert is not the only one affected by the overwhelming pleasure of their brutal fucking. Ferdinand grunts, growls, and sighs against his husband’s throat as Hubert howls beneath him. Words are no longer necessary, for one has lost the ability to think and the other is solely focused on his release. Ferdinand’s cries are muffled as he sinks his teeth into Hubert’s neck, mounting his husband with the intention to breed, to be filled with cum. Ferdinand has turned into a beast, ravishing his fucktoy, rutting into that wet and loose hole until he cannot take any more.

Ferdinand’s eyes roll up into the back of his head as his cock pulses once, twice, and releases a thick load of his seed into his husband. The sudden warmth that fills Hubert sends him tumbling into another dry orgasm, his poor prick barely wringing out a few drops of clear cum. Despite this, he continues to convulse around Ferdinand’s cock as it pumps his sloppy hole full of seed, twitching uncontrollably as Ferdinand continues to thrust into him, stuffing him full of cum. 

There’s just _so much_ . Hubert, having had all semblance of reason fucked out of him, relishes in the feeling of being _bred_ . Were he to possess a womb, he wouldn’t mind getting pregnant with Ferdinand’s child like this, blissed out and full of his beloved husband’s seed. The only sounds that leave Hubert’s kiss-bitten lips are animalistic groans and trills, which trail off into whines as Ferdinand’s hips _finally_ slow down. 

“Beautiful...” he hears Ferdinand rasp distantly, drinking in the sight of the Empire’s feared spymaster, covered in his own cum and twitching through dry orgasms. The only sounds Hubert can make are small hiccups and sobs, for his voice is ruined and his brain is too numb to form words.

He’s still convulsing around Ferdinand’s cock. The leg that’s been laid on the bed twitches uncontrollably, his thigh tensing and relaxing in spasms that he can’t seem to stop as his orgasms fade into a numbing pleasure, like gentle electricity sparking through his veins. 

He moves his lips, trying to form Ferdinand’s name. It’s in his mind, on his tongue, even etched into his bones… but his tongue feels like lead in his mouth and no sound comes out, even as Ferdinand begins to pull out of him.

The emptiness that threatens to overtake Hubert is frightening. He wants Ferdinand to stay where he is, keep his cock plugged into Hubert’s messy hole to prevent him from leaking any more over the sheets than he already has. Who cares if he’s covered in cum and sweat, who cares if his chin is shiny with spit and his cheeks are tracked with tears? He needs Ferdinand at his side. The thought of parting from his husband brings him pain, even as he continues to twitch from overstimulation.

Even the gentle motion of air in the room feels like a thousand volts on his skin. The tickle of Ferdinand’s hair on his neck lights his frazzled nerves on fire and he feels like he’s spiraling, ricocheting off the walls of his own mind. He needs Ferdinand to ground him, wants the feel of Ferdinand’s hot skin to distract him from the cum cooling on his body, wants Ferdinand’s sweet voice to cut through the haze in his mind.

But he cannot yet voice these needs. All he can do is clutch at Ferdinand’s shoulders and give a pitiful whine.

“Shh... it is alright, my love. I am right here.”

Distantly, Hubert registers Ferdinand’s voice cooing in his ear as his husband coaxes his limbs into a position more comfortable than being bent like a pretzel. Hubert whimpers and whines through it all, his hands limply pawing at Ferdinand’s back.

“I am here.” Ferdinand gently reminds him. “I am here, my jewel.”

Hubert squirms in Ferdinand's grasp, trying to burrow his face between the mounds of Ferdinand's breasts. One of Ferdinand's hands comes up to rub comforting circles into Hubert's back as Hubert's fingers tangle in long, amber locks. Ferdinand must have pulled his hair free from its ponytail, knowing how much Hubert loves clutching at it to ground himself.

The feeling of silky hair in his hands is calming, as is the rise and fall of Ferdinand's chest as he tries to catch his own breath. All the while, Ferdinand continues to purr sweet nothings in his ear. Each pet name, each word of affirmation, each praise, serves to bring Hubert up from the space he's fallen into. Even though he's sore and thoroughly fucked out, he is _loved_. 

As the light of cognition returns to his teary eyes and the tremors ease, he nudges his face upwards to peek at his husband, who is already gazing at him with fondness in those honey-gold eyes Hubert loves so much. 

"So handsome," he croaks, giving a watery smile. 

The bed beneath them is damp with sweat and cum, causing an uncomfortable coolness against his skin. Despite this, Hubert is sore, and the only place he wants to be is in Ferdinand's arms. The intensity of their lovemaking is starting to take its toll on his body—the stinging of his thighs, the tightness in his hips, the soreness in his ass, the rawness in his throat from his screams and sobs. He's parched and needs water, but he can't bring himself to untangle his limbs from Ferdinand's to go and grab a glass. 

"Love you, Ferdie," he murmurs, nuzzling between the valley of his husband’s pecs.

“I love you too, dear.” Ferdinand sighs, pressing another kiss to Hubert’s head. “Are you back yet, my moonlight?”

Hubert hums in response, feeling the familiar tingle of faith sigils being traced into his skin. His mental faculties are returning as well, thanks to Ferdinand's omnipresent warmth. As Ferdinand's fingers trail up and down his back, Hubert feels the pain fade into a dull, satisfying ache. The hunger with him has been sated and he feels, for lack of a better term, _fucked out._

“Will you be okay on your own for a moment as I go fetch you some water and a warm rag?” Ferdinand asks.

Hubert nods. Water would do his raspy throat some good, and the mess of cum practically covering him from belly to knee needs to be dealt with before it dries into a flaky mess. 

"I will be fine, darling," he murmurs, loosening his hold on his husband enough for Ferdinand to slip from his grasp. 

He watches Ferdinand walk towards their adjoining washroom topless, not bothering to throw on a robe since it was only the two of them, and nods approvingly at the way Ferdinand's muscular ass flexes with each bouncing step. He must have done something incredibly well in a past life to be blessed with someone as amazing as Ferdinand as his husband, with whom he was so in sync that they knew each others' needs. Smiling, he rolls onto his stomach and breathes in, his husband's scent still in the sheets grounding him until Ferdinand's return. 

He flexes his thighs, his ass, making sure he can still move them, and shivers at the sensation of globs of Ferdinand's spend trickling from his loose hole and down his balls with every flex of his ass. Goddess above, Ferdinand fucked him _good_. He has half a mind to suggest that Ferdinand plug him for the night, keep his seed inside Hubert's slutty hole to ease the slick slide of Ferdinand's morning wood as he took Hubert again before the first rays of dawn rose from the horizon. Waking up to the feel of Ferdinand's cock in him was his favorite way to start the day. 

Just something to think about. 

His eyelids are heavy and the bed is soft and smells like his beloved. Even as the water shuts off and footsteps signal his husband's return, he cannot bring himself to move.

Ferdinand steps back into the room, fully nude, with a glass of water in one hand and a warm rag in the other. His armor has been discarded somewhere, but Hubert finds that he cannot complain this time. 

Strong arms come to maneuver Hubert, like a beloved doll, to a sitting position (though his ass _stings_ when he rests on it). The glass of water is pressed into his hands, urging him to drink while his husband sets to cleaning the mess of drying cum on his chest and torso.

“How do you feel, darling?” Ferdinand asks, setting the empty glass on the nightstand. Hubert returns to his place in Ferdinand's arms, face squished against his husband's chest. 

"I feel good," he purrs contentedly, slotting a knee between Ferdinand's now-bare thighs. "So very good." 

Now that he's made himself comfortable against Ferdinand, surrounded by his warmth and scent, Hubert feels heavy with the bone-deep satisfaction that comes with yielding so completely and thoroughly to his husband. 

He falls asleep to the gentle sensation of plush lips on his, soft pecks that sink him further into that warm and tender depth, the last whispers of affection before the darkness claims him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to qwertyuiop678 for the beta!


End file.
